


Regrets

by seb_the_owl



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Desk Sex, M/M, just a little bit, old dudes doing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb_the_owl/pseuds/seb_the_owl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cook and Bering have a past that didn't end well. Cook goes into a meeting with Bering with his emotions almost in check until his memories bubble to the surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> This is all based off of something a-social-construct mentioned on Tumblr. In her headcanon, Bering and Cook are just older, more jaded versions of Cain and Abel and I loved that idea.

Bering’s assistant stood up so fast he knocked his chair backward, sending it clattering onto the floor, “Uh, sir!” He moved to stop Cook from opening the door. “He’s still in his meeting!”

Cook spared a glance back at the flustered fighter, “Yes, well, our meeting was supposed to start half an hour ago.” He placed his hand on the panel, “I’m sure he can cut this one short.”

Not giving two cares what he was walking into, Cook put his personal code in the door and it opened with a satisfying ‘whoosh’. His eyes landed on one of his navigators pulling down on his uniform jacket as Bering sat behind the desk with a smug grin.

“Thank you for your report, Metis.” Bering’s gaze shifted to Cook. “It was most informative.”

Metis scooped up a pile of folders and squeaked out, “Yes, sir” as he scurried past Cook, red-faced and avoiding eye contact with his commander.

Cook watched him leave and turned to his comrade with a raised eyebrow. “Apparently I don’t give my navigators enough work to do.”

Straightening his own jacket, Bering sat up in his chair and gestured with an open hand for Cook to sit in the overstuffed chair across from his desk. A small bottle of lube sat next to a photo of Bering’s family. Cook chose to ignore it just as Bering chose to leave it where it was.

“Go easy on him.” Bering leaned back in his creaking chair. “You know how I enjoy hearing about the _ins-and-outs_ of your side the station. Metis was only helping me out with that,” said Bering.

Cook gave a non-committal ‘hmm’ and decided that Metis needed to do some extra training this week as he lifted up his tablet. Displayed on the smooth screen were several images representing the new engine layout and various graphs reporting engine performance.

His own tablet already out, Bering tapped on the screen to sync the two devices. “So, Commander,” Bering purred. Cook tried to ignore the slight thrill he got at the sound of that tone of voice, “how is your little project coming along?”

The meeting goes smoothly, with Bering asking appropriate questions and Cook answering with navigator efficiency. Cook kept his face neutral, just as he did during all of these meetings, looking upon the face of his former fighter and lover, and now joint commander on board the Sleipinr. Part of him longed to reach across the desk and touch him, slide his thin, nimble fingers through Bering’s salt and pepper hair. On cold nights when he had a few moments to lay in his bunk, he would think of what they once had. He gave himself a small mental shake; but not anymore, Bering made sure of that, years ago.

Meeting winding down, Bering stood up and walked over to a small corner cabinet and grabbed two old-fashioned glasses, filling them with a warm, amber liquid.

“I have to say, Lt. Keeler has really out done himself with this.” Bering noted as he moved to sit on his desk in front of the still seated Cook. The younger man took the offered glass and sipped.

“Abel has been doing brilliantly.” Cook sat the glass down on a small table next to his chair and switched off his tablet. “But you already knew that.”

Bering gave a small chuckle as he looked down on his former navigator. “Well, we both know that it isn’t wise to question the will of Mother.”

“Indeed,” replied Cook.

Standing to leave, Cook inhaled the scent of the man before him. Nostalgia hit him hard in the face and he tried to not rock back on his heels with the force of it. It brought him back to the days when they were younger and went by different names.

_“Kepler, I don’t think we should be doing this…” Tycho trailed off as hot lips traced down his neck and sure hands slowly unzipped his top._

_“You’re always so high strung.” Kepler mumbled into his navigator’s neck, “I want to fuck you, so shut up.”_

_Tycho looked around the small storage room. It wasn’t the Ritz, but they’d fucked in worse places._

_A breathy moan escaped the navigator’s mouth as it was dominated by the fighter in a rough, almost bruising kiss before he could reply._

_“Ok, but if our commanders find us, I’m tying you to the bunk and fucking_ you. _”_

 _The fighter smiled against Tycho cheek, “Baby, you know just how I like it.”_  
  
Cook didn’t know how or what gave him the impulse. One moment he was trying not to stare at Bering’s mouth and the next he was pressing his lips to the other man’s, closing his light eyes. 

Bering moaned and hastily placed his glass on the edge of the desk. It teetered for a second then went crashing to the ground. The sound of the glass shattering snapped both men back for a moment before Cook grabbed the front of Bering’s jacket and shoved him back on his desk.

It was a bad idea, but Cook couldn’t bring himself to stop. His professionalism kept his emotions in check when he first learned that he would be commanding with his former lover but the stress of the mission on the Sleipnir seemed to be coming to a head at that moment.

Lips pressed together desperately and Cook’s face rubbed against that beard, that stupid beard, that he begged Bering to grow for him all those years ago but never did. When he saw Bering again at a briefing for the station with a perfectly trimmed goatee, he wanted to scream, but pulled it back into himself, as he’d done with so many other emotions regarding this man.

Cook brought his hands up and lightly circled them around Bering’s exposed throat, thumbs grazing his beard, and continued to kiss him, giving him small bites to his lower lip.

“Hnn, fuck,” Bering whispered. Rough fighter hands trailed up and down Cook’s body and landed on his ass, pulling Cook tighter against him. Cook didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but a small whimper escaped his throat as their hard erections pressed against one another.

Skin. Cook needed to feel skin and leaned up just enough to help Bering take off his uniform jacket, shirt and undershirt. He got an eyeful of Bering’s sculpted chest and abs, still in tip top shape. He had to be, any sign of weakness around his men and he’d be taken down like a lame dog.

Hands ghosted down to softly caresses nipples and trace muscles, Bering hissing with the pleasure. The belt was next and Cook’s hands were stalled when Bering lifted a hand to gently remove Cook’s eyeglasses. They were folded and placed safely out of the way and Bering brought his hand back to cradle his former navigator’s face.

“You always looked good in glasses, baby,” Bering murmured deeply, the way he used to get when Cook pushed and brought his lust to the surface.

“Really? You never mentioned it before,” Cook said sharply and brushed his hand away, just as a distraction so that Bering wouldn’t see his hands shake or his face blush. Bering’s buckle undone, Cook was thankful he didn’t fumble with it and slowly slid the zipper down.

Bering had the decency to look ashamed. “There are a lot of things I never told you…” He trailed off as Cook grabbed the sides of the fighter’s waistband and tugged the fabric over hips, ass and then cock.

Cook shimmied Bering’s pants and underwear down to his knees and ran his hands up thick, hairy thighs. Once his hands reached Bering’s straining erection, he couldn’t fight the blush that peppered across his nose and cheeks.

A smirk grew on the fighter-commander’s face. “That’s what I wanted to see; that famous professionalism slipping away.”

It was frustrating the way this man could play Cook like he was in his twenties again. Cook looked down at Bering’s dick and thought back to the navigator that simpered past him on the way out. Eyes narrowing, Cook’s annoyance flared, and he grabbed the leaking dick with one hand and Bering’s hair with the other. He jerked the fighters head back and spoke close to his lips.

“I need to make up for your apparent lack of it.” Cook breathed. He pressed his lips against Bering’s and slipped his tongue in, exploring the other man’s mouth. Teeth clacked and tongues pushed against one another as Cook slowly stroked his hand up and down Bering’s shaft making the other man moan.

Hand still in Bering’s salt and pepper tresses, Cook again yanked the old fighter’s head back. “Turn around and spread your legs.” Cook said as he roughly shoved Bering back as he stepped away to remove his jacket and undo his own pants. He didn’t remove his shirt, just unbuttoned it so that it fell open, exposing his chest.

“Bossy, just the way I remember,” Bering smirked as he flipped around, laying his chest against the desk and his hands curling around the edge of the opposite side.

With out replying, Cook stepped up and grabbed the bottle of lube. His eyes caught the picture that he had spied earlier. It was a posed portrait of Bering, his wife, and two daughters, sitting against a backdrop of some lake. Just the sight of it made Cook’s blood pressure rise. He quickly lubed up his fingers and thrust one into Bering’s entrance.

“Fuck!” Bering grunted and squirmed. “Impatient are we?”

Cook moved his hand a little slower, placing the other hand on Bering’s shoulder.

“One little finger shouldn’t be that bad. Or are you not a little slut anymore?” Cook spoke harshly, but tinged with lust. He drew back and then plunged in two fingers, not really caring if his former lover was ready for it or not.

Bering barked a laugh between clenched teeth, “Ha! I haven’t had anyone in my ass since-“

A third finger moving into his ass cut Bering off as he moaned into the desk. Cook really didn’t want to hear it; didn’t want to hear that he might have been the last man to have taken the older fighter.

“You seem loose enough to me,” Cook removed his fingers and lowered his pants enough for his own hard and leaking erection to be freed. “Are you sure you haven’t let anyone fuck this sweet ass? Maybe the little lady with a strap-on?”

At that, Bering pushed back against the hand on his shoulder as he strained to look at Cook. He spoke through clenched teeth, “Don't you dare bring Maryanne into this.”

Using his full strength, Cook pushed Bering back down and leaned over to speak in his ear. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered and touched the tip of his cock to Bering’s slick asshole.

Pushing in slowly, torturously, Cook moaned and bit at Bering’s ear, receiving a matching moan from the man beneath him. As soon as he was buried completely, Cook pushed himself up on his arms and set up a steady rhythm, pushing into Bering’s tight ass. Bering removed one hand from the edge of the desk and brought it down to his own incredibly hard cock and started to jerk himself off, matching Cook’s rhythm.

Cook looked down on Bering, both of their breathing becoming hard and labored, and tried to fight back the wave of memories that threatened to bubble up and overcome him. How many times had they fucked - no, made love - like this or the other way, with Bering’s cock shoved deep in Cook’s willing and wanting body.

A tightness in his groin thankfully pulled Cook’s mind away from such thoughts and he snaked a hand around to cup Bering’s throat, lightly squeezing his windpipe.

Bering let out a shuddering moan and Cook squeezed a little tighter, knowing exactly what Bering wanted and how much he could take. Dark eyes fluttered and Cook could see that Bering was right where he wanted him, his breath rasping in his windpipe, his skin hot against Cook's fingers. Hips snapping forward, Cook leaned a little closer and grunted, “Come, you old bastard.”

Almost taking it like a direct order, Bering’s hand sped up and then his whole body stilled as his hot come shot onto the desk and into his hand. Bering’s eyelids squeezed shut and Cook released his throat to grip tightly to the older man’s slim hips and thrust hard until is own orgasm took him.

”Ung, damn!” Cook gritted through clenched teeth and he collapsed onto Bering’s own heaving back.

They both gave each other time to calm down and then Cook was pulling back and using Bering’s undershirt to wipe himself clean. By the time Bering sat up, Cook was already put back together, looking sharp and every bit the poster child for recruitment.

Bering pulled his pants up and looked over his shoulder at his former navigator. “That was a good fuck,” he said as he zipped up his pants, “but I don’t suppose this will happen again.”

Adjusting his glasses, Cook slid his mask of indifference back on. “It probably shouldn’t have happened in the first place, but I won’t say I’m sorry it happened.”

A pregnant pause held in the air until Bering turned back and faced his desk, picking up his shirt and sliding his arms into the sleeves. Cook walked over and placed his trim body flush against Bering’s back, and leaned both hands on the desk, trapping the fighter.

“We’re entering Colteron space soon.” Cook breathed into Bering’s ear, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to have any regrets.” Bering froze as Cook paused, the fighter-commander’s hands halting on his shirt buttons.

Even quieter, Cook whispered, “I hope she was worth it.”

Bering tensed up but Cook had pulled way, quietly leaving the room. As the door slid shut, he watched Bering, with his shirt still unbuttoned, slowly reach out and pick up the framed picture of his family.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Their old task names come from Johannes Kelper and Tycho Brahe, two astronomers from the late 1500's. I used Brahe's first name because it just sounded better. :D


End file.
